


Memory

by Sophia_Bee



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25244710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: Joe always finds that one spot.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 714





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

> One shot. That speech in the armored car killed me. No beta, there will be typos.

Fingers drift across skin slick with sweat, warm from the never ending heat and from the exertion of fucking. Nicky closes his eyes as the fingers slide up his rib cage, slipping upwards on a familiar mission. They pass by his left nipple and for a brief moment he wishes they wound stop there, linger for just a moment, and the thought makes him want to arch his back as his groin tightens just a little. It makes him want to reach out and pull Joe to him, crush their mouths together, kiss him until both their lips are swollen and they are beyond the point of no return. 

Instead Nicky lays still, waiting. He knows where this is going. It’s a familiar journey, one that happens time and time again, hands seeking until they find the invisible spot, pressing compulsively onto something that hasn’t been there for a millennia. 

“Nicolo.” 

His name is a whisper, a promise, the same promise they have been whispering to each other for so long that sometimes Nicky almost forgets where it began. 

Joe never forgets. 

Joe’s fingers press into the soft flesh just below his shoulder, pushing hard enough to hurt, seeking something. Nicky’s breath hitches and he bites back a moan as he starts to feel a lazy distant build of arousal in his abdomen. His eyes flutter shut, his lips part, he wants….

_Not yet._

“Do you remember.” 

Joe’s familiar words are hot against Nicky’s skin. It’s a question and statement of fact. They both know that memories are all they have left and even those are torn and faded. Nicky opens his eyes to find Joe staring at him in that way he does, brown eyes wide and shining, and Nicky’s swells with gratitude that it is THIS man by his side. 

“Yes.” 

He doesn’t remember every time. They blend into each other. The scythe. The dagger. The arrow in his chest. The high pitched whine in his ears as he gasped for air. The feel of his entrails spilling out, his hands slippery with blood and guts. The sneer on the other man’s face. His enemy. He will never forget the last time. 

His lover. 

His heart. 

_...do you remember…_

As if he could forget. It’s seared into his brain. 

The feeling was always the same:the knitting back together of flesh, the pain of broken bones straightening, the startled gasp of first breath over and over again. He would open his eyes only to be met with loathing and it would start all over again. 

Until it didn’t. 

He remembers that moment: he was half on his back, half on his side, staring up at the man standing tall above him, a now familiar bow in one hand. Nicky remembers how his breath came in short sharp pants, how the arrow lodged just below his shoulder sent waves of pain, how blood spilled hot and sticky down his chest, how the now familiar taste of dirt and death soured in his mouth, how the smell of heat and sunshine filled his nostrils. He remembers the feel of the dagger clutched in his right hand, his muscles strung tight, prepared to slice open the other man. Then he heard a single word. 

“No.” 

Fingers went to the arrow. But Yusef’s, not Nicola’s. They were long and brown, calloused from battle; the fingers of a warrior. Nicola’s eyes widened in surprise. 

They were beautiful. 

“Do you remember.” Joe asks again, his voice gravelly with want, muffled as he places his lips against that very spot. Nicky shakes away the fog of the past and moans. Just like he did that day. 

“How could I forget.” 

Yusuf had muttered ‘no more’ in broken Italian over and over as he pulled out the arrow with one swift motion. Nicolo had felt the now familiar pulling and tingling as his body healed. His eyes traveled from those fingers up a strong, muscular arm and stopped at the face of his enemy, the man who had killed him over and over and he did not see hatred. He saw something else. Something odd. Something undeniable. He saw….

Love. 

“No more.” Yusef had murmured again, halting and almost under his breath, then he turned to Nicolo and started to say “I’m sorry,” in that same broken Italian that sounded almost like music to Nicolo. Yusef hadn’t made it past the first word before Nicolo heaved himself upwards, grimacing from the pain, and kissed him. 

The fighting was over. 

Hundreds of years later Joe buries his face into Nicky’s shoulder, a gesture so familiar that it makes Nicky ache with how much he loves this man. 

“Yusef.” His name. His old name. 

“Nicolo...my Nicky.” A prayer. The same prayer. 

“Shhhh…”

“I hate it when you die….”

“...don’t…”

“And there’s always that moment.”

“No.” Nicky’s chest clenches tightly at the anguish in Joe’s voice. His eyes sting with tears.

“...when I think you won’t come back to me.” 

Nicky knows why his lover seeks that spot over and over, despite that it’s been long healed and there is no mark left on his body. It’s the moment they realized they had someone to love and the exact same moment they realized they had someone to lose. 

Utter joy. 

Utter desolation. 

His hands come up, fingers tangling in Joe’s hair. Nicky wonders for a fleeting moment what it could be about human nature that allows this feeling to never grow old even after hundreds and hundreds of years. He pulls Joe’s face up, stares into his eyes. They are glossy with tears and tinged with sadness. Nicky’s heart thuds in his chest. His breath catches. It’s always like the first time; the day they finally stopped killing each other; the day Joe pulled the arrow from his chest. It’s always possibly the last time. Neither know what their end will be, or if it will even be together. Nicky pushes away the familiar pain of that reality. He tilts his head up, presses his forehead to Joe’s. 

“I love you.” They are the surest words he has ever spoken or ever will speak. Time has taught him this. The only other thing that matters is the team: Andy, Booker and now Nile, and even then, they are nothing compared to Joe. “Now, fuck me again.” 

Joe smiles. The sadness slips away, replaced by warmth and mirth, and love. Always love. Nicky smiles back. All these years. It still works to wash away the melancholy. 

“Of course, my love. Always.” 

~fin~


End file.
